


friends of friends

by lovemutt



Series: teeth and lungs [2]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Clover is uwu towards her girlfriend lmao, Dealing With Trauma (Poorly), Ex-Slaves become total units, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Brainwashing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Raiders Are Assholes, Slavery, oh boy, rosie is mom confirmed?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovemutt/pseuds/lovemutt
Summary: After Clyde freed the Pitt, a lot happened. He doesn't remember it all, it has been a few years, but...





	friends of friends

**Author's Note:**

> Watch out, I wrote this in the span of like, a week, and none of it makes sense!
> 
> (Also another shoutout to SomeRainMustFall because they're the only reason I'm still writing about this lmao)

The Capital Wasteland was an inhospitable place, one that even the most toughened of people would struggle in. Mountains of concrete left in radiated piles around the once bustling city meant it was a struggle to get anywhere in the decimated city unless you decide to take your chances with the potential fall, and the people who flooded the streets you could traverse made the fall seem ideal.

The dangers faced when just trying to walk through the Capital Wastes was bad, but when you tried to settle they got worse. Raiders, slavers, radiation, ghouls, or sometimes just plain bad luck… It seemed near impossible to try and live there, the land mostly infertile and the people hostile.

And that’s why Clyde loved it. Just like home, but with way less trogs and way more people. Another plus was being able to do  _ whatever the fuck _ he wanted to with slavers he found and people not care either way, no praise for being a hero or dirty looks from someone he kept alive as a  _ reminder _ . Just quiet apathy and blank looks. It was nice.

He kicked a raiders face in one day and the settlers he was bothering said thanks and moved on. He he broke another's legs the next and no one mentioned it.

Maybe resorting to violence to get his feelings out without having to actually address them wasn’t  _ healthy _ , but he didn’t know that that was what he was doing, so he didn’t care and just kept swinging and shooting to his heart’s content.

The journey from the Pitt to the Capital Wasteland was...hazy to him. He remembered refusing to go back to the steelyard to give her to Wernher, making him come out instead. The days that followed as Midea took charge, forming new systems to make sure everyone was safe, new expansions, new  _ everything _ still made him feel almost hopeful. He stood next to her with a gun the entire time and damn near  _ snarling _ at anyone who got too close, same with Marie. Midea was so hopeful, so happy to see a light at the end of the tunnel finally, and it was infectious. Once they had a farm going, they cleared out Haven of food, and once people got something actually  _ edible _ in their stomachs?

Clyde had never seen the place so busy. Even when they had slavers breathing down their necks and beating them, when pain and death were reasonable responses to so much as stumbling, they weren’t as busy and motivated as then. Reinforcements were built up in a day or two, the steelyard was cleared in three weeks and lit up in another two with ingots being found much more easily than they ever were when slaves were being thrown in for fun.

It was almost a settlement, somewhere that could really turn out to be worth-fucking-while to put effort into, especially once word got out and traders stopped by again.

And that might be why Clyde left. He could remember packing, and then stopping and having to talk himself into telling Midea, saying goodbye before he up and left. It went about as well as he thought it would, Midea clinging to him and his armor and crying, asking him to stay. Marie was too young to understand, so she didn’t cry like Midea or the other newly not-slaves did. Clyde felt a small twinge of guilt, but it was knocked away by his usual state of uncaring that was so ground into him he couldn’t help it.

The walk took a few days, but he just kept going. Only stopping to sleep and take a small break here and there, he walked to the ruined area of DC and then kept going until he found himself near a tall, crumbling building, three-stories high with a gate. He stared for longer than he wanted to admit, realizing he’d been traversing through unknown territory and not even caring for his surroundings until now. He finally noticed the relative chill of the night, feeling that his skin had flushed at the new temperature.

He was so used to the constant heat of the Pitt that he wanted to shiver at the air around him, even though it was more than welcome.

Finally, someone spoke, a woman. She shouted from the second story, half-hidden from behind a ruined window frame. “What’s your business, stranger?”

Clyde didn’t know what to say, actually. He had no idea  _ what _ his business was, he just didn’t want to be in the Pitt anymore so he walked and walked and ended up here. He opened his mouth to speak, finding the most convenient lie to spout just like he’d been doing since he was 13.

He said he wanted a place to trade and rest his feet, never mind the fact he had nothing to trade and it was obvious. The woman narrowed her eyes, her finger staying on the trigger of the guns he already had readied and trained on Clyde.

“Hannibal says I gotta let folks like you in, but that don’t mean I have to like it.” She shouted back at him. Keep your hands in sight, and don’t make  _ any _ sudden moves.” Her gone lowered just an inch, and she paused as she scanned Clyde up and down. “I’m coming down to open the gate.”

Clyde went in. The woman, Simone, literally locked him in the building, telling him to go speak with the previously mentioned Hannibal before she talked to him. Once he found out they were all escaped slaves, the woman’s hostility clicked in Clyde’s mind, and he suddenly felt the same protective feelings he had towards his not-slave family for everyone in the building.

Not love, maybe not even a bond, just a need to protect them.

So he left as quick as he could. He left and just walked the streets of DC, another soul lost in the ruins of a forgotten civilization.

During the months he wondered, he joined a mercenary company. He became the “quiet one”, the “new kid”, and he earned a minor reputation for being reliable. Even with a bullet in his shoulder and blurred vision, he would make sure every last feral ghoul in the area was dead before he took pause to actually take care of himself.

Something he still looked back on with confusion and wonder is how he found the time to revisit the Pitt, and by extent, the people there. He would never understand why he let himself go back, or why he even wanted to in the first place, but he found himself at the gates one day, a bag full of toy cars and teddy bears for Marie.

The first time he had ever done that, Midea had nearly tackled him with the hug she gave him, and she made sure Wenher had brought Marie out to see him as well. He stayed for a week or so before he decided it was time to head back to the Capital Wastes.

Clyde never cared for the people he traveled with, barely caring to learn their name, but he found himself passing through the streets of DC one particular night, following behind a pack brahmin weighed down with scrap metal and junk.

In the distance, he saw it, shining lights from a crumbling building being patched up with plywood and scrap metal. He raised his gun as they approached, as did the rest of the guards, but the closer the more they realized what they were approaching.

The Temple of the Union had expanded and moved to a more reasonable state of living. The Lincoln Memorial now housed them, the walls that had been torn down through years of abuse and neglect now patched up with wood, stone, and lots of hard work. It had become a central part of the Capital Wasteland, a beacon of hope for some people and an intimidating force for others. he found the time every few months to make the trip back to what he knew as his home to see them all.

The caravan he guarded stopped to trade and rest their feet for the night, and Clyde found himself at the end of the stairs with a stabbing in his chest keeping him from walking too far up. A woman shouted down at him after a few minutes of him standing around kicking his feet, almost mockingly, “What’s your business, stranger?”

Clyde felt just a tiny bit better as he met the gaze of Simone, who walked down with her gun in her hands and a smirk on her face. “Long time no see.”

Simone coerced him up the stairs with promises of ammo and extra water, and Clyde was almost instantly bombarded with quiet cheers from the slaves he once knew when he stumbled across the Temple of the Union months ago.

When morning came, Clyde didn’t follow the caravan out. He handed the man his caps back and went back to the room he had been sitting in all night. It felt… right to be here. For once, something actually felt right to him, not almost-right where he was walking on eggshells trying to find a place to sit. So he stayed. He stayed until a woman named Rosie Red came marching into the Lincoln Memorial like she owned the place, a woman with a deactivated slave collar trailing behind her with knives attached to her belt and a smirk on her face.

He stayed until Rosie looked at him, asked him how much his contract was, and bought him out for the year. Then, he followed Rosie around, not that she went far.

She boasted herself as an old assassin, a black widow in the wasteland that took down scummy men to make sure they never hurt another person. She’d quickly add “well... women too…” and wink at her partner, Clover. Rosie went on and on about how she had a reputation, and when Clyde asked around it was confirmed that she did. A few people even said that Rosie had been the one that freed them in the first place, killing their masters, buying them and turning them loose, or just doing something as simple as opening a gate.

Clyde didn’t trust her, contract or not, and he always made sure to keep a closer eye on her than was necessary.

The Union had grown so much, and after Clyde had his week in the Memorial, he considered leaving just as he had with the Pitt. The prosperity was too much for him, it almost reminded him of Haven when he was young. Every small, innocent interaction was painted dark, the heat of the Pitt finding him even in the coolness of DC as Clyde watched two raiders exchange cigarettes before turning back into the good-hearted ex-slaves on the stairs they really were.

It’s like he was being haunted, even small things pulling him back however far into his past it wanted him to go. One of the slaves had a baby when she came in, and he had to cup his ears so he’d stop picturing Marie in her crib, confused and whining as he killed her mother just feet from her.

He tried to leave after that, standing and grabbing his bag, packed and ready to go like always. He went for the stairs, the chill seeping into his bones and his ears still ringing from the sound of the whining baby, trying to walk down without drawing too much attention to himself and failing miserably evidently.

His arm was grabbed, and Clyde whirled around and reared back to hit whoever it was that grabbed him, only to come face to face with the aged face of Hamilton. The man gave him a solemn look, lips pursed into a fine line. The air between them was still, the city seemed to go quiet for a few moments as they stared at each other, Clyde blankly and Hamilton ever-so disappointedly.

“ _ Just promise to take care of yourself. _ ”

Clyde almost grimaced at the words, but years of training had made sure he didn’t, and he just stared, moving from Hamiltons grasp as he continued off down the stairs after the look grew too much for him to bear. The feeling followed him, and all Clyde could feel as he stared down the decrepit streets of DC was those eyes on his back, watching, waiting,  _ disappointed _ .

He stopped just at the bottom of the steps, some ache in his chest keeping him from walking any further as he stared into the night. He thought, and thought, and then he couldn’t stand thinking anymore so he sat on the bottom steps, eyes sliding shut and his head in his hands.

Clyde didn’t want to be Clyde. He didn’t want to be a weapon, or a monster, or a hero, he just wanted to not be  _ anything. _ Maybe he wanted to be dead. Just the product of some asshole in power armor thinking torturing a child was the way to a new, better world. Just a weapon, a weapon always, what more was he good at? Any ability to decide who he was wiped clean long ago-- He couldn’t even  _ remember _ who he was. Was Clyde even his  _ goddamn name? _

He sat on the stairs, trying not to curl in on himself, just trying to find some semblance of calm in the rushing thoughts in his head. He knew he was alone once the hairs on the back of his neck stopped standing, and all he could do was think.

Clyde sat for what seemed like hours in the moonlight, thinking but not really having many thoughts besides “ _ Oh God, what have you gotten yourself into? _ ” and “ _ You have a job, finish it. _ ”

His head snapped towards someone sitting next to him, and he saw the fair face of Rosie Red. She leaned back on the step behind her, her legs stretching out in front of her as she looked towards the sky. Even at night, she was wearing red lipstick, her hair a mess and a look of knowing on her face. He stared, suspicion creeping back on him as he stared. What did she  _ want _ ? He said nothing, knowing better than to speak up against his boss, but his face gave it all away.

“You don’t have to finish out your contract, but I would have appreciated a warning, kid.” She said softly, eyebrows knitting together in worry for a split second before her entire face relaxed again. “If you want to go, you can. Just be safe, alright? It’s a dangerous world out there.”

“I owe you a few more months of work, I will give you them.” Clyde replied, looking down towards the pavement between his feet.

“But you don’t  _ want _ to.” Rosie retorted.

“I owe you a few more months of work--”

“What do you want, Clyde? Do you know?”

“I will give you them.”

Rosie sighed deeply, her eyes sliding shut. “You remind me of Clover.” She murmured, going silent for nearly a minute until she spoke again, “Well, kid… If you want to stay, then stay. If you want to go… Ask yourself why.”

Rosie then stood, smiling down at the man before she turned and walked back up the stairs, where Clover was waiting tiredly by the entrance to the memorial.

No point in questioning your boss.

A loud clattering noise snapped Clyde out of his reminiscing, and his eyes snapped to the caps spread across the floor and the man cursing as he picked them up. Bottlecap, of course. He was the person that was best with numbers, so he was put in charge of the money by Hamilton.

Clyde watched stoically as Bottlecap knelt down, gathering the caps back into the cloth sack they had spilled from with more grumbles and complaints, though he shooed away those who attempted to help. Ever protective of the job he was given, just like the rest of them. Regardless of how much you disconnect yourself from your history, the habits you form never leave, it’s why Clyde was a mercenary, why Bottlecap looked up terrified when the woman tried to help him gather the caps he’d spilled, and it’s why that woman flinched when Bottlecap told her to leave.

He had decided to stay a year ago, though he didn’t understand why even now. He didn’t think it mattered, though, as long as he was here, employed by a woman who deserved his protection, he didn’t feel bad. Rosie let him make a trip every few months to the Pitt, though she didn’t know that’s where he went, no one did. Clyde tried his best to make sure no one knew he came from the Pitt, an act of protection in his mind.

The DC chill still bothered him, even now as he was comfortably cool, and he felt the need to just stop patching his armor halfway through to have the extra layer on. He’d ditched the cracked leather years ago, now in comfortable metal pieces that he constantly took care of, always remembering the time he spent in the steelyard with nothing between him and the snapping jaws of the trogs but cloth.

He was ever grateful for metal armor.

Sun shone in through the holes in the walls of the memorial, and Clyde focused his attention back on his armor, finally going over the last few pieces with careful eyes before he put it all back on, standing and looking around the room with a long, slow glance as he moved for the door. Bottlecap had gathered the last of the caps he’d dropped and had moved on to wherever he was going, and the room was filled with a relative silence once more save for the quiet murmurs from people too far for Clyde to hear clearly.

He walked out the door, grimacing at the sunlight that hit his eyes and blinded him for a short moment before he finally adjusted, looking around the area. A farm had been set up in the mangled debris, encircled with its own fences, gates, and guards like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He turned his head to clance at the top of the memorial, seeing a chair set up next to a crate with Nuka Cola bottles covering it, and a small, blonde woman positioned just next to it. She had her hand on a sniper rifle next to her, her legs dangling freely over the ledge of the Memorial in a way that just taunted fate. She saw Clyde looking and raised her hand to wave before she leaned back and grabbed a half-full Nuka Cola.

Everything was exactly as it should be. Clyde had grown used to the relative peace the Temple of the Union held, though the urge to flee bubbled up nearly every day-- he always ignored it, thankfully. At this point, if he took off, Rosie would hunt him down just to scold him for worrying her.

He moved to one of the pillars that held the Memorial up, leaning against it and looking out onto the street. Junk walls had been put up in an attempt to fortify the Memorial, and they worked rather effectively. Made of metal and welded together, it was hard to get past the wall without Liberty taking you out first, and Clyde liked to think he was support. Anyone who got past the walls, whether by pure skill or blind luck, didn’t make it any further thanks to him and his gun.

Just as the relative peace found him and his thoughts, it was gone.

A bullet lodging it’s way in the pillar Clyde stood on snapped his attention towards the road, scanning the little road he could see just above the walls for any sign of movement. He heart Liberty scurry above, knocking off dust and pebbles as she readied herself to shoot.

He saw nothing, and since Liberty wasn’t firing, she saw nothing. The workers outside all went quiet, most freezing in place as they looked towards the gate, others moving slowly towards the Memorial to take cover.

And finally, Clyde saw movement, but Liberty saw it first, and the person moving just outside the gates was shot down before they got any closer. Clyde hated to say it, hated to even think it, but he _knew_ the armor, even though he just barely saw it. His feet were moving before he even realized, and he found himself at the gate, peering out of it with narrowed eyes to see a raider-- no, a _slaver_ \-- on the ground with blood beginning to pool. He had no gun.

“Ah shit.” Clyde murmured, spinning around and motioning for those outside to take cover, looking over his shoulder out the slot in the gate again. 

“Here we fuckin’ go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, cliffhanger.


End file.
